Quidditch
by AlphaMiddle21
Summary: Harry and Ginny train for the world cup. Harry gets a rough case a work. Fast approaches the world cup and also a most dreadful anniversary. Harry works to gain courage enough to propose. Hinny cuteness.
1. Practice

**Hey ya'll, I'm playing my hand at a little more hinny. Hope you enjoy this one - quiditch and adventures and such. Please review, they really make my day and all the work into my pieces really seem worth it.**

"Oi! You call that a dive?" Harry calls to me sitting on his broom about thirty feet above me in the bright blue sky. "Watch." He leans forward gripping his firebolt around the deep cherry handle and shoots off toward the ground as fast he can. The crimson blur grows longer as he gets closer and closer to the grassy pitch before pulling up skillfully just in time, toes grazing the freshly cut grass as he rockets forward before quickly - almost skidding - to a halt. A hockey stop he calls it, it resembles a muggle sport apparently. He tilts his head back and squints up at me from behind his round glasses, his shoulders pulled back sticking his chest out just a little, and I watch him suppress a smirk "You've got to really commit to it." his relaxed fist hits into his open hand as he balances expertly on the hovering broom. "Try again."

We watch the sun come over the burrow and work it's way across the sky from our speeding brooms. Clouds pass by offering shade for our workout every now and then. I try that stupid dive over and over, sometimes cashing into the plush itchy grass, and sometimes stopping too slowly. As the day goes on it gets harder and harder to scrape myself from the ground, it seems to becoming apart of me with the blades sticking to my damp skin.

"Last time Gin. You c'n do it." I hover just below a fluffy puff and let the condensation cool my pinkish freckling skin. Pressing my callused pads to the sun warmed black handle and clenching my core I take off toward the ground. The moisture resting on my skin is wicked away from the wind gluing the spare grass to my freckled arms. _Not yet. Not yet_. The pitch approaches like a vast green wall, the horizon disappears. _Now_. My arms strain as I pull up on the nose of my firebolt, and I press my core tighter still pressing down on the tail end to level the broom. Grass tickles the toes of my sneakers as an indicator that I'm level. Leaning forward I zoom across the field chasing an imaginary player a few meters before wiping to a stop.

That was the best one yet today. I'm quite satisfied with it - Harry had better be too, that prat. I know I asked him to help me, even now as a pro, he still knows the game better then I do, but he could stand to ease up a bit. Harry could have easily gone pro and made a career of it, I've never seen anyone ride like him. It's incredible really. He gave it up for Aruor, that was -is- more important to him, but I'm so glad he still plays internationally. I've been training a lot the past few months outside of practice, he watches sometimes while studying for a case and his shoulders slouch a bit and his smirk softens with his eyebrows pressing down a little less. Poor bloke. When he gets enough time he joins me and turns into the pickiest coach I've ever had. I don't mind really, the world cup is only three weeks away and we need to be ready. This is the year England finally wins, I'm going to make sure of that.

I peek over my shoulder as I climb to see him sitting on top of our makeshift goal, the sun catching his eyes just right. Soon I'm weaving and turning, flipping and diving too high in the clouds to see him. My annoying bangs pushed back from my face by the air trying to resist me as I doge imaginary opponents and bluggers getting in my way. After my last set I stop and hover for a second, trying to catch my breath."Almost ready ta go in, Gin?" He swoops next to me from where he was watching and yelling at me to keep my core tight, steer more with my heels, press my shoulders, nag, nag, nag. I hide my breathing quickly and wipe my face off on my sleeve quickly moving to catch the quaffel he's tossed at my chest. "We've been at it for hours. And it's our day off." He grabs his glasses in his hand and wipes the sweat dripping from his face with his other accidentally flattening his dripping messy hair to his forehead and hiding the faded lightning bolt, before ruffing it up again.

"Well, I w's thinking" Dropping the quaffel I pull the practice snitch from my pocket and roll it between the tips of my fingers as I smile at him, "loser does dishes?" His bright green eyes shimmer in the afternoon sun, eyebrows knitting slightly together and left cheek scrunches up a bit in a crooked smile. "I mean, only if you aren't too tired. You seem a bit out've shape."

Harry sits up straighter on his broom, cheek un-scrunching a bit to soften the cocky grin, and hands gripping his sweater at his hips make his chest stick out. His flexed forearms, exposed from the crimson and gold striped sleeve pushed up just below his elbows, suggest differently. "Oi, out've shape am I?" His arms cross in front of his stomach and grip the sweater again before pulling it off in a swift motion and letting it float to the ground. A hand flies up to his glasses - knocked lower on his nose then he likes - habitually pushing them up at the bridge before they slide right back down a little crooked on his nose. "You're on. Loser h's got the cooking too."

I've seen him bare chested countless times but I still can't help from mentally drooling over Harry's body, no longer just skinny 'fit' from his malnourished years as an 'honorary Dursly'. A scar on his right peck is pale against his subtle tan always distracts me for a second, another killing curse survival reminder. _That horrible day._ He clears his throat grinning cockily at me again, he looks so much like old photos of James when he gets like this _but he has Lilly's eyes_ , that's what everyone else says at least; to me he is just Harry, his messy dark hair and glasses and vivid green eyes aren't anyones but his. It took a while but since the war Harry has really grown more comfortable with himself and his past, more confidant, more relaxed. It suits him. Well.

Harry clears his throat again bringing me back to the breezy warm sky were we sit perched on our firebolts. "So d' we have a deal or not? Loser h's got dinner and dishes?" He pauses looking at me as I toss my harpies shirt to the ground. His drooling isn't so much mental, and he looks me up and down in my - _what did Harmonie say the muggles call it?_ \- a sports bra, that's right. I can't help but return the snide grin as he shakes his messy hair and returns his gaze to my eyes. "This 's getting serious."

"Bloody right. Doing your dishes is bad e'nough." I laugh to him, both of us situate ourselves to take off. "Ready?" He nods only half at me as I raise my hand clenching the snitch. His eyes focus intently on the fluttering wings as his jaw sets itself, muscle bulging around the back of his mandible, eyebrows sinking closer to his eyes and his noes crinkles at its bridge beneath his glasses. I love it when he gets competitive. I relax my fingers and the snitch's wings tickles their tips as I release the golden ball, it disappears and we both start circling the air looking for the familiar glint in the sun.

"I'm looking forw'rd to'a nice warm meal, steak maybe?" Harry yells over his shoulder pretending to lick his lips as he dives toward the ground to get a better look and show off. It's his classic move, he's loved it ever since Krum did it to trick the Irish seeker in the World Cup a few years back.

"You bugger, you're 'ona have to do better 'en that to fool me." I glide just above him, then to his left as we both decide to climb a little higher. The sun is setting far off on the horizon but here the sky is still lit with the beginnings of orange flirting with the clouds. I catch light shining off a small object over the pond, looks like a mirror being used as a signal or Harry's glasses when he sits in the sun. He sees it too and we're off. It's just below us and he takes an angle straight at it, spinning and acting fancy as he does. I shoot straight above it and beat him-kinda. It's about 40 feet below me and he has only 50 feet till he reaches it.

"You letting me win?" He laughs in victory as he approaches the prize; it looks as I've misjudged miserably but I've been working on a move, more to give Harry a heart attack and to get him back for pranking me a few weeks ago then to really use in a match. I leap off my broom and dive straight toward the snitch. The wind blows the hair back out of my face and dries the sweat on my grass littered torso as I hurtle through the air toward the snitch.

Just missing his spending broom my outstretched hand beats his and clasps around the buzzing ball it's wings brushing my fingers as they fold. I've won, now the real fun begins. My broom still above me sits hovering as Harry dives as fast he can after me. "Are you mental!? Take my hand!" The ground approaches more rapidly as I pick up speed. I slip my empty hand inside the top of my bra and grab my wand, _Accio Broom._ 7 feet from the ground I feel the familiar pressure of the broom between my legs, I grab it with my free hand and stop. Feet grazing the turf just as Harry and I had done earlier in the day, and jump off holding out the snitch pinched between two fingers out to the shocked and reddening Harry.

"Oi! Harry?! You recon I ought'a be seeker this world cup? I'm sure you'd be 'n ok enough chaser."

"You are bloody mental. Don't ever do 't again." He hopes off his broom panting completely ignoring my taunts. "Merlin's beard, Ginny."

"Thought you might like't." I wink at him, still mad that I would pull the stunt. "Looks like you're cooking tonight. Better be good too, I need proper fuel if I'm going to pick up your slack in a few weeks." patting my belly I chide at him, now pouting about his loss.

Gini 1 - Harry 0


	2. Flour Fight

Broom slung over his shoulder he starts to walk back to the burrow, we're house sitting for mom and dad who are on vacation visiting Charley and Bill. He swipes his sweater off the light green grass slightly moving with the warm summer breeze. The muscles on his back contracting really catch my attention as I play with the snitch in my hand. "Come on Gin, lets go. You may have won but for scaring the bloody hell out'v me you get to help cook." He turns to wait.

"No, go 'head. I'm'a work a bit longer" I mount my broom and fly about 3 feet above him. "got some core work to do. I'll meet you inside, and help" He raises an eyebrow at me and tilts his head "Promise." I roll over and give him a quick upside down kiss to apologize for scaring him.

"Not too long." He smiles back up to me. "Besides," he reaches up and runs his finger tips down the side of my obliques slowly, my skin twitches tight with a chill following the gentle touch of his warm fingertips. I have to fight to keep my mouth closed, luckily I'm upside-down so gravity can help me out. "I don' think those need much work." He kisses me quickly and heads inside.

After sitting upright to watch him walk back and allow the blood to return to my brain still fumbling after his touch I drop down from my broom hanging from my arms, a little wider then shoulder width apart. Squeezing my shoulder blades together and firing my biceps I bring my chin to the handle of my suspended broom quickly. A pull on the verge of painful spreads down my collarbone and balls up in my shoulders as I squeeze my core and thighs, holding my legs steady, and drop back down slowly and pull up again careful not to use my momentum or legs. 5 pull ups. As I dangle I flex my abs, still feeling traces of Harry's fingertips, and bring my extend legs up to my hands bending at my waste in a jackknife. 10 suspended v-ups. Carefully I release my hands stinging from ripping calluses one by one to flip my grip and do 5 chin ups. Pressure spreads down my arms again and across my color bone before moving to my shoulder blades and upper back. It isn't comfortable. I swing my legs up between my hands and grip the broom in the crook of my knee, 20 upside down crunches.

My muscles quiver as I press out three sets of the exercises, pushing past the discomfort. My fatigued shoulders send trails of fire down my arms that threaten to give out and burning legs grow too heavy for my aching core. A small price to pay for the World Cup. The air cooling around me changing from a light shade of orange to purples and pinks hints that it's time to head in. I swing back up onto our team issue broom with one final effort and fly toward the house, grabbing my shirt from the dampening grass as I go.

"Ginny, you said you'd help!" Harry calls from the kitchen window running his hands through the sink. I can't help but laugh at his flour littered hair and powder smudged face as he wipes his hands on the yellowing apron. He resembles my mother, standing and watching, waiting for us to come in from our quidditch games when we were kids, but only in the sense of the apron and standing at the sink. The expression painted on his face and the pleading written in his posture is something all his own.

I walk in the door leaning my broom against the family clock, and tug my shirt on over my head. Grabbing my hair close to the pony-tail holding it back I run my hand in a circle down it, un-matting it from the back of my sweat dripping neck. Walking over to the sink I crane my neck and roll my shoulders back trying to extinguish the burning trapped in my joints and loosen my stiffening muscles. "What 're you making?" The soap is cool and slimy in my palm, I let it sit there for a second before the warm water runs over my soft but callused hands as I scrub for a couple of seconds rinsing the dirt from the ridges in my skin. Mum would kill me for cooking with 'dirty quidditch fingers'. I snatch the other apron from the wall and slide it over my head, wrapping the strings around my waste once before tying them behind me.

"Your favorite. Fish 'nd chips." a cloud of white puffs into the air as he mixes the batter. He likes to cook some things the non-magical way he learned when he was a boy - not that Petunia ever taught him - and this is one of them.

I reach out and ruffle his mess of hair adding to the cloud of flour floating slowly toward the floor. "Explains the flour 'en." He hip-checks me sideways putting me slightly off balance in weak retaliation. Going with my momentum I get the cod from the muggle refrigerator my dad brought home last month. It's quite useful. We have it decorated with help from Harry and Dad's muggle books on how it should look. Pictures litter the freezer door; Ron and Hermonine's wedding invitation, the new Order of The Phoenix, Fred and George at the shop, Bill and Fleur's pregnancy announcement. There is also a list of chores to do for mum and dad while they are gone stuck a little lower one the bigger door and at the very bottom Teddy's colorful letter magnets form no pattern what so ever. The damn list updates itself every day; she's crafty like that, my mother. I slap the fish down on the counter in front of the Chef "Teddy'd be neater 'en you." A new task on the bottom of the list appears - Clean the kitchen _. Good one Harry._

I turn and grab a towel our of the drawer to get a head start while I get a glance of Harry's frown over my shoulder at the mention of our - his, I mean - god son, who's staying with George for a week. He misses the little tyke. I do too. It's quiet without him here, he keeps life interesting, though Harry and I do that plenty well on our own. Teddy is apart of our family now - Harry's family - not mine, not yet. He could be though. I want him to be. He basically is already. It's been years, we practically live together anyway, and pretty much have a kid…

He makes me jump a little with hands resting on my shoulders before they squeeze gently, rubbing them for a slight second. _That feels so good, don't stop._ I feel myself relax and lean back into his grip. "Gin, go shower. You're dragging." He leans forward and hugs me from behind, pressing my bellybutton into the counter as he leans into me and wipes his floury hands on my apron just under my ribcage. Warmth spreads through my cooling body from his wand-ridged hands gently pressing on my core through the cloth and his soft lips pressing to the speeding pulse at the side of my neck. "Besides, cooking without magic isn't exactly your greatest gift." He wipes his floury cheek on mine and spins me around by my hips to face him. "You h've a little something there." His long fingers point to my cheek now smudged with a sweat and flour mixture and quickly return to resting on my hip while his other hand braces him leaning forward against the counter behind me.

"Oh really?" I cock my head sideways smirking up at his beautiful green eyes. I lean back against the counter gripping its cool sides fighting the urge to kiss him. "Wonder how that got there?" Extending my toes slightly into the wood floor I get closer to him, taunting him with a kiss, drinking in the butter beer on his breath.

"Like this." The hand behind me reappears and cups my other cheek with a powder layer hardly separating his skin from mine. He leans in tilting his head just a little and stops centimeters from my face. "Go shower. You're filthy." His whisper tickles my eyelashes.

Harry is teasing me with a kiss that seems it'll never come. His hands pinch in on my sore obliques just above my hips and lift me up, my butt resting on the counter top now so my face is even with his. He wipes his hand in the flour behind me once again and leans in brushing my bangs escaped from the ponytail out of my face and leaving my hair streaked with white. Finally he leans forward a bit more closing those last millimeters and our game of chicken is over, his hot lips press into mine and I can taste the dry bitter flour mixed with sweetly salty sweat that smears his upper lip.

Still bracing myself with arms reached out behind me I find the pile of the flour being used to ambush me by my juvenile boyfriend. Good thing I've grown up with the twins. He doesn't stand a chance. Harry is getting more and more into the kiss and my jaw goes slack in habit. Fighting the urge to abandon my revenge - just as his hand sneaks up my shirt toying with the bottom of my ribcage and leftover flour litters my unexposed skin - I remove my hands behind me. Harry's grip on my hip and his hand now on the small of my back holds me steady as I release two fistfuls of flour into his messy black hair, ruffling it further and clouding the air around us. I can't help but smile into his lips as the power sprinkles down on our faces like a soft spring mist. "If only you didn't have to finish cooking dinner…" I shake my head fake pout at him as I whisper into his ear nipping quickly on the lobe. "Looks like you could use a shower as well."

He swallows hard and tries to suppress his widening eyes and close his mouth caught open in eagerness. "D-dinner could wait." He mutters attempting to hide the whimper forming in his throat.

" 'fraid not." I jump off the counter and walk past him, pulling my shirt up at the hem to wipe my flour covered face and to tease him even further with my slightly exposed lower back. "Girl 's gotta eat." Harry sighs in the background and I hear the clanking of a knife on the granite countertop - the twins bough it for my mother just before the Battle of Hogwarts. When I sneak a glance back his shoulders are a little slouched and he hangs his head in defeat. The corner of my mouth twitches up mimicking his little grin, somehow I picked up on the habit.

Ginny 2 - Harry 0.


	3. R n R

Up in the bathroom I used to share with Ron I turn the old shower nob coaxing the water up to sputter from the shower head before settling into a smooth stream bouncing off the tub's bottom. As the water warms I pull my shirt over my head again, though this time the fire still in my arms protests a little more then I'm comfortable with. Wiggling out of my sticky damp bra takes more effort then I'd like to admit. I probably don't need it much anyway, my chest is laughably small. Harry says he loves it the way it is and Hermonie tells me it's because I'm so fit, but just a little extra would be nice. I mean, I still use bra's from forth year.

I step into the now steaming water pounding a welcoming rhythm into the bottom of the tub as I drop my shorts and kick out of my underwear. The water pelting my back washes the flour, grass, sweat, and soreness away. I shampoo my hair, running my fingertips into my scalp trying to get all the flour from our fight in one wash. I take a break halfway through, my arms too tired to finish the job just yet. I lean forward and stretch them on the wall just under the shower head and let the water rinse the sud induced volume from my hair and continue it's rhythm on my back. I could stay like this for ages. The water sputters for a second as I grab my conditioner from the side of the tub and my shampoo goes flying out of the bathroom, Ron's body wash follows shortly. Harry must have gotten in my parents shower. What a dork.

Grabbing my body wash before it can disappear I run my hands over my body and try to scrub my skin clean, the soap and water run down my legs slightly tinted brown from the dirt and bits of grass stick to my feet for a second before flowing down the drain. Running my hands down each leg thing to ring the dirt off the little hairs poke my hand some even long enough to fold over the skin between my thumb and first finger. Once the legs get past prickly I don't mind, but for Harry's sake I'll shave. I reach for the razor and knock it into the bottom of the tub - _nice hands, dumb ass._ Finally securing the rubber in my hand more dirt flows down as I shave my legs quickly, little stings around my ankle and up my shin beg for a more conservative approach. _Sorry guys_. I follow with my already smooth armpits but an extra shave can't hurt. Lifting up my other much sorer arm the razor slides out of my hand and out of the shower. _Merlin's balls Harry, you're lucky I shaved those this morning._

Legs screaming with each step I brace myself on the railing and waddle down. Rounding the corner with a sigh of relief to be down with those stairs I lean against the wall and watch Harry sitting at the table for a moment; the base of his jet black hair dripping down his neck and soaking the collar of his Griffendoor t-shirt. As I get closer the smell of my shampoo and Ron's body wash mix with the golden fish streaming in the center of the table. I can smell just the slightest bit of alcohol and notice Harry's taking the liberty of pouring himself another butter beer, must be a rough case. I grip around his shoulders and lean down to see what he is studying and press my lips to his head. His damp hair tickles my upper lip and the coconut shampoo is so strong I can almost taste it's sweetness. "You forgot your shampoo again didn't you?"

"What? Yeah." His hand reaches across his body to find the one resting on the opposite shoulder. He chuckles deeply shoulders bouncing as he reaches next to him and parts the bench. "Food's ready."

"Great I'm absolutely starved." A rumble deeb in my stomach agrees. I habitually press my hand to my stomach through my shirt. The touch is slightly uncomfortable. I'm so sore it's quite a hinderance making lowering myself gingerly next to Harry a task. I slide across the inches between us, close enough our thighs are touching but only barley. As much as they suck the aches are gladly welcomed and almost satisfactory, I'm getting better. With the world cup in a little over a week to occurs to me I should probably ease up a bit, just maintenance not so much going crazy. He removes his glasses, wiping his other hand down his face and back through his hair and closes the manilla folder. His arm wraps around my back as Harry slides the file off to the other side and tries to flip it so I don't see the red stamp in it's center. The folder squeaks a bit against the friction of the wooden table. "Everything all righ' Harry?

"Yeah.. Yeah, fine." One handed he fixes my plate full of fish, his forearm flexed tight as he hands it to me before fixing himself one. The golden crisp falls away with the flaky fish with the pressure of my fork. The steam burns the roof of my mouth and is hot on my tung but it's worth it. The crisp mets in my mouth and blends with the moist fish before I swallow and it slides easily down my throat. The heat of his arm leave my back and he swings it over my head bumping me 'accidentally' on purpose. I just keep shoveling, my back feels lonely now but I'm too preoccupied with this fish. _Bloody hell it's good._ "I see I did well."

"Wha, yeah." I mumble through a full mouth of more of his fish. I devour the fish in record time and wash it down with another and then another. The light lemon tint is fresh on my tung and sticky on my teeth. "Tranin' w's good today. I finally got that bloody dive." I force out in-between bights. I can just hear my mother scoffing at me - _Geneva Molly Weasley, chew with your mouth closed. And don't say bloody. You're not your brother._ \- _Oh, hop off it mum._

Chewing as quick he can Harry a lump slides down his throat as he swallows with effort to answer. "You're lookin' real good, Gin. You've had the dive for weeks now. Jus' thinking too much." He takes a sip of his butterbeer, I'm sitting the swish as he pulls it between his teeth is audible, and smiles at me. "You're ready. Take a day off tomorrow."

"Only if you do." I reach quick across him, the back side of my elbow bumping his shirt, the old letters are scratchy on my skin, and grab the folder. In attempt to stop me he wraps his hand wrist and bumps my shoulder funny with his chest as he lunges forward. Something pops and it's uncomfortable, something is very wrong. It's painful but not at all at the same time. Very strange. "Ahhhhhhh." Immediately I release the folder and recoil my arm into my chest.

"Ginny! I'm sorry! Are... are you ok?" I feel his arm reach around my back again, holding me tight as I clutch my arm, a hand on the heartbeat in my shoulder. As soon as I realize what I'm doing I straighten up and he unwraps me, I can feel his eyes searching my back and his hands inches from me as if to touch me would break me. I would hope he knows I'm much less fragile than that, but to his defense its fair; I'm not visibly hurt often. Even to Harry.

My heart speeds inside my chest and my stomach tightens in anxiety. _Calm down._ It's _just a bump, exhaustion from today._ I was going rather hard. _Nothing a little healing spell can't fix._ I force a deep breath and roll my shoulders back casting my neck from side to side. The pops make Harry cringe, he hates the noise. Every time I crack my knuckles he swats at my hands, he is worse then my mother when it comes to that one. "I'm fine. Jus' sore is all." I reach up to his face with my other hand and run my thumb along his smooth cheek. His brows cast outward and his beautiful green eyes dart back and forth widely searching mine. "Harry, really." I lean forward and press my lips to his briefly, whispering "I'm ok." between the two little kisses. His body slouches back to normal posture as he relaxes against the pressure of our lips.

"It's just a file on some idiot wanna be dark wizard trying to sabotage the world cup. It's nothing really." He changes the subject as he picks up the file and drops it back on the table shrugging. He picks up his cup a looks into it before taking another swing, the butterbeer swooshes between his teeth again as he savor's it.

"Liar."

He stands up slowly bumping his knee on the table and spilling some of my milk with annoyed grunt. Straddling the bench he leans over, his stomach warm against my shoulder, and kisses the top of my head before swinging his other leg over. "The same could be said for you." He takes my plate and carries it into the kitchen. His shirt flows gently around his back as he walks, and I find myself wishing it wasn't on. He turns the water on with and gets to scrubbing, humming a low melody faintly in the air that mixes with the sink and the clattering of the dishes.

I grab my team playbook, the binder is dense in my hand as I drag it across the wood. It's added weight once it's off the table pulls on my arm as I walk shortly to the couch. The old cloth is warn and pilly, but it's sooting on my legs. Comfortable, familiar. Years of sitting in my spot have left a slight impression on it that I slide into perfectly.

I lean my back into the corner and curl my legs up under me, the folder resting on the arm and on my leg. The cover is slightly sticky as I flip it open, mark my training notes from today and start studying the scouting report. I know it forwards and backwards already but something about looking at it calms me down. Ireland has no chance. Clicking and reclicking my favorite pen - I just love how it glides across the paper - I make some new notes on their team, what moves should work.

After he is done Harry joins me on the other side of the couch with his file and kicks his feet up on the table I just cleaned off yesterday. _Ugh._ To return the favor I adjust almost without thought and put my back against the arm and my legs across his. I rest my scouting report vertically on my lower stomach, the indent of plastic edge familiar in my gut. I think the two of us study more now then we ever did in school. Between his cases and my quidditch stuff it's like doing homework every night in the common room all over again. _Except this time we actually do it._

I like sitting in silence with him. It's so comfortable, kinda like my spot on the couch. I could do this for the rest of my life and perfectly happy. _Merlin, Harry, don't you want the same thing? Man up and ask me already._ About 30 minutes ago my notes in the margins slowly started to turn into doodles of brooms, thick lined boxes around random words and other scribbles. Currently my pen is scratching a thick boxy x over a four-leaf clover - down with Ireland.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him bend forward, his stomach pressing softly onto my feet as he puts the folder down. His strong hands start to work on my lower calfs and graze the bottom of my feet through my warn sock. A tingly sensation I'm not particularly fond of trills up my nerves. Calfs fine.. but I hate when people touch my feet. "HEY!" I laugh as I twitch back and kick him soft in the thigh. "You know I hate that."

As I go back to putting a hat on my clover his fingers wrap around the top of the binder and pull it from my hands, placing it on top of his own study material. He smirks at me, exactly aware of how I feel about it. "Oh, really?"

"Yes you prat!" Forced to sit up, or risk further torture, I slap him on the arm... We're both laughing as he brushes the underside of my heel. I'm squirming all over, my feet threatening to kick him but his hands hold my foot just in reach. I make no apologies to where my feet land, it's his fault if he gets kicked. I can't control it. My chest tightens and I'm in a fit of involuntary twitching, I can hardly breathe. "Harry, stop." I squeeze out between fits of breathless laughter. "Please stop." he does after a few more good tickles and a solid heel landing in the dead leg spot. He groans with a crooked smile goes back to work on my calfs.

Ginny 2 - Harry 1

His palm and fingers are warm and firm on the back of my leg and all the sudden I really want to feel more of his skin, more of his hands. Kneading different places then my calves. I lean back on the couch and just watch him work. His nose is still scrunched and the shadow of laughter is on his face and it couldn't be sexier. I love the way his nose crinkles up by his eyebrows when he laughs. He looks up for a moment and our eyes lock.

Harry's eyebrow twitches up and wrinkles his forehead as he realizes what I'm thinking and he puts my legs down, working his hands up my legs, my obliques and my shoulders. I twitch everyone in a while when he finds a tender knot to work on. He works in a slow - _slow_ \- massage eventually climbing so he is over but not quite on me. His warm soft lips brush mine and I lift my head to press deeper into the kiss but he pulls away. Causing me to grumble in frustration. He is relaxed and much less eager then before dinner. He presses his thumb into my upper arm, I twitch again my back lifting slightly off the couch before he rubs more gently. He kisses me again making sure I relax and mutters into my lips - his words nearly swallowed my my searching tung. "What d' you say we take your victory massage upstairs?" He smiles at me, emerald eyes shining away in the lamp light as I close my eyes and imagine us in my bed; there's a familiar pull in my stomach and when I open my eyes that's exactly where we are.

"Now… where were we?" He asks as his hands find their way beneath my shirt and inch it up my torso and over my head. His fingertips tickle my hip and make my skin twitch tight in a familiar stomach flipping sensation. They slide just under my waste band and start to work it down. Sometime in there my hands had found his sides and were working on his shirt when his slightly clammy hands wrap around mine. "No no. Ms. Weasley."

I open my mouth to protest, all want is to feel his warm body pressed to mine, to run my hands up and down his chest and back and mess up his hair. Before I can get anything out he kisses me deeply, the back of my head goes further into the mattress. _Now we're talking._ When he breaks his hands rub small circles on the backs of mine. "I believe it's time you relaxed."

Let's just say that by morning it was closer to Harry 6 (7 if you include the massage) - Ginny 2 (well maybe 3). Final score for the weekend Harry 7 - Ginny 3.


End file.
